I want this job.
I think I want this job.
I want this, if they want me. But if they don’t want me? I wouldn’t want it.
Thoughts whirl like a carousel, round and round my head.
My mind is a haunted house where ghosts of past failure flock round me. Werewolves howl demands as they transform from ordinary colleagues to monsters of time-management. Mummies stumble about, unravelling all my hard work. Workaholic vampires suck every minute out of the day. Then there are the three witches, brewing, boiling and bubbling around the kettle.
“Elven Steel, you’ve got the job.”